


to use black ink

by moonythejedi395 (moonythejedi394)



Series: glitter glue and pastel hearts [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Adoption, Dan and Phil adopt a kid, Domestic Fluff, Foster Care, Kid Fic, Laura is a snarky lil kid, M/M, Mention of Death by Overdose, can be read alone but reading both would fill in a few gaps, guess who learned the difference between / and & in relationship tags, it's ya girl me, mentions of drug abuse, phandombigbang2017, she's v much like Dan, teenage angst, the infamous, this is a sequel, to glitter glue and pastel hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 01:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi395
Summary: Laura Anise Jones, at the ripe old age of 12 ½, knew exactly four things in life. The first was that she would never touch illicit drugs. The second was that it was best not to tell anyone anything about herself, as nothing good would ever come of it. The third was that adults will always lie. The fourth is that the only exception to the previous rule is her English teacher, Mr. Lester.





	to use black ink

**Author's Note:**

> _ayyy i haven't dropped off the face of the planet surprise! so, let's not address any of my other fics that i've promised updates on or new fics i said i'd write, let's focus on the here and now in that it's phandombigbang time again! i wanna thank my artist[silentorator](silentorator.tumblr.com) and my beta [ iremeun-jeongguk](http://iremeun-jeongguk.tumblr.com/) for in general being awesome human beings, this story would not be what it is without them. i also by law am required to thank my platonic wife who requested glitter glue and pastel hearts in the first place and without whom this fic wouldn't exist._
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> _follow me on[](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/)_

* * *

_**to use black ink** _

 

 

Laura Anise Jones, at the ripe old age of 12 and a half, knew exactly four things in life. The first was that she would never, ever, ever, touch illicit drugs. Ever. The second was that it was a very, very bad idea to mention to anyone she had not known for more than three to five months that the reason she was in foster care was that her mother overdosed on heroin four years ago. Or that her dad was listed as John Doe on her birth certificate, or that all her belongings could fit into just one jumbo garbage bag, or that she was moved from house to house almost every two months. In fact, it was best not to tell anyone anything about herself, as nothing good would ever come of it. The third was that adults always lied, even if they meant well, especially regarding areas of procreation, finances, or death. The fourth is that the only exception to the previous rule is her English teacher, Mr. Lester.

The first three rules had followed Laura for the past four years, but the fourth had only been added to her list of universal truths since she had been sent packing from her last foster home and took up residence in the borough of Wokingham in Reading, and had begun lessons at the local grammar school. Within the first week, she could tell that while the school tried hard, it was the sort of school that turned its nose the other direction when the baby gangbangers in-training started hustling the science and band geeks for their lunch money. Yet it was somehow not the sort of school that turned said, horrible, hairy, and sniveling nose away when the local foster (read: problem) child fought back against the darling footballer bullies and broke Billy Finch’s nose. No, at that point, the school sent you for detention and poor, dear Billy to cry on mummy’s shoulder.

But even as Laura started the long walk away from the doors to freedom – or rather, a pale imitation that was more a mockery of freedom than anything else – and towards the detention hall for the first of her month of weekly detentions, she could have never expected that the outcome of breaking Billy Finch’s nose would be so wonderful.

 

* * *

 

After graduation, Phil Lester and Dan Howell had left for the same university; Phil decided he definitely wanted to become a teacher within weeks, but Dan took time to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He remained one of the Undeclared for their first year, before picking English in hopes to turn his skill at bullshitting entertaining essays into something useful. While Phil became certified as a teacher after university and took up at the same school he’d started at, Dan ended up back at the bookstore he’d worked at in high school, then manager when the owners retired to live out their days in the country, and wrote freelance on the side.

It wasn’t glamorous, but they had enough money to rent a flat in town and they were happy. It was also enough money for engagement rings, and then a small wedding in a church that was welcoming and a honeymoon in France, then a house near where Dan’s mother lived and they worked. Dan collected more tattoos throughout the years, with the date of their wedding wrapped around his finger, followed by a line from an essay that Dan had written about Phil along his forearm, then his own star sign on the underside of his left wrist and Phil’s on his right. Phil, on the other hand, only ever got one tattoo; just his husband’s name over his heart, something he’d done for their third anniversary. The memory of Dan’s shock and grin was something that always made Phil smile.

Their friends grew up alongside them, some of them moving away, some of them staying. PJ and Chris left for London for PJ to become an independent filmmaker; oddly enough, all of his productions starred Chris (read with sarcasm). Louise got married, had a child, then divorced, but she stayed in town; Dan and Phil were little Darcy’s godfathers. Zoe and Alfie got married, Phil’s old bullies stayed unemployed, and Dan’s old connections to influential circles faded to nothing, just the way they had been promised. They went to Carter’s funeral, however, after he died in a crash, ironically killed by someone else driving drunk. Dan talked to no one but Carter’s little sister, who looked like she had seen better days and already had a child. A year later they went to her funeral. The little girl, dressed in black and sad eyes, was being escorted by government worker in a crisp suit; not family, not her father, not even a bloody friend of her mum’s, a social worker. When he and Dan decided they wanted to start a family and Dan insisted that they adopt someone who needed them, Phil couldn’t help but think of that little girl. He hoped she’d gone to a good home.

 

* * *

 

 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Jones,” the teacher at the head of the detention hall greeted her. He was the English teacher, she remembered, she’d had a lesson with him only that morning. “My name is Mr. Lester, I’ll be overseeing your detention this afternoon.”

“Fine,” Laura said simply in reply, dropping into a chair near the door. She fixed her gaze on the clock, determined to watch the second hand tick each and every breath until she was free to go.

She certainly did not expect a box filled with craft supplies to drop onto the table in front of her.

“I figured since it was just you today, you could help me prepare some crafts for the primary school,” Mr. Lester said, giving her a rather kind smile that made Laura want to not trust him out of pure stubbornness. The man had astonishingly blue eyes, she noticed, the kind that were either fake or suspiciously akin to demonic. Laura looked down at the box of glitter glue, pastel construction paper, and other such art supplies, then back up at the teacher with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, grabbing a chair and now sitting down across from her. “I legitimately need these done, I promised Mrs. Howell I’d do them for her.”

Laura wasn’t sure who Mrs. Howell was, but she wasn’t sure she particularly cared. “Okay…” was all she said. Mr. Lester smiled at her.

“Excellent!” he said, pulling out a stack of paper with a flourish. “Now, as I’m sure you know, it’s nearly Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, god,” Laura groaned involuntarily, “please no.”

Mr. Lester only chuckled in response. “You sound just like the missus,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Very uneager to aid in sample crafts.”

“Erm, no offense, but I’m not very good at art,” Laura told Mr. Lester, hoping desperately he would take that as a sign to not torture her with Valentines.

“It’s all quite simple, I promise,” was what he said instead of changing his mind. He pulled a pair of scissors from the bin and picked up a piece of paper. “There’s only got to be one example per table, but Mrs. Howell always makes a Valentine for each of her students, so we’ve got a total of twenty-five to make.”

“Twenty-five?” Laura mouthed incredulously, but Mr. Lester didn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy cutting out a heart in a piece of pink paper.

“I’ve already made one example, so we can do twelve each,” Mr. Lester continued, producing pink and red card decorated with silver glitter glue and white ribbons from the box.

“Erm, sorry, but why the ruddy hell doesn’t Mrs. Howard make them herself?”

“Howell,” Mr. Lester corrected her; Laura made another shocked face but he didn’t notice that either, “and she can’t do all these herself anymore because she’s got pretty bad arthritis in her hands. I used to be her teaching aide, so I like to help her out whenever I can.”

Laura simply gaped at the teacher before her. Never in her life had she met someone so persistent on being polite. Mr. Lester pulled a piece of paper from the box, then another pair of scissors and hands them to her.

“Go on, then,” he said. “Only twelve, and then you’re free to go.”

That one sentence gave Laura pause. “I just have to make twelve Valentines, and then I’m free to go?”

“Yep,” Mr. Lester answered, giving her a smile. “‘Course, they have to look nice, but they don’t have to be Hallmark cards.”

Laura blinked once, twice, three times, but Mr. Lester was still smiling kindly and totally seriously. She glanced down, then back up, then picked up the scissors and started to cut out hearts.

“That’s the spirit,” Mr. Lester said cheerfully.

 

* * *

 

 

“I tell you, it was odd,” Phil mused, his gaze far away and his voice thoughtful. “She just… sat there, she had no reaction to what I was asking her.”

“Phil, as much as I’d love to psychoanalyze your newest student,” Dan sighed, “I do legitimately need you to chop those carrots.”

Phil set down his knife, not having heard what his husband had asked him. “I’ve never had a student do that before. You know, even the toughest kid softens a little bit when I ask them to help me with something like that. But this girl…”

“Maybe she particularly hates arts and crafts,” Dan said dryly. He took the cutting board covered in whole carrots from Phil as well as the knife and began chopping. “Like you seem to particularly hate chopping vegetables.”

“What?” said Phil. Dan set down his knife and looked at him crossly. “Oh! Sorry, Dan.”

Dan rolled his eyes at his husband’s absent-mindedness, releasing the carrots and the knife to him. “Honestly,” he mumbled as he turned away.

“She did arrive in the very middle of the school year,” Phil said, beginning to chop carefully. “I mean, it’s February. What sort of parent moves in February?”

Dan gave a shrug. “I have no clue, Phil. I’m sure she’s just shy.”

“Yes, but –”

“Phil, if you don’t chop up those carrots, I will not let your dick anywhere near my ass for at least a fortnight.”

Phil’s face turned bright red immediately and he spluttered incoherently for a moment as Dan turned away to check the oven. After a moment’s blabbering, Phil gave a sigh and started cutting up the rest of the carrots. Not just because Dan had threatened him, of course.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“What’s the good news?” Phil asked dryly, focused on the carrots.

“Our favorite Chinese place delivers now.”

Phil paused in his chopping of the carrots. “Is the bad news related to the chicken?”

“Very much so.”

Phil turned around, setting down the knife, and peered into the oven. “Oh, no!” All that was left was a blackened husk. “How?”

“I may have only turned the oven off half an hour ago, and forgotten to check it at the time,” Dan admitted.

Phil let out a sigh. “Guess there’s no need to chop carrots anymore.”

“Chinese it is,” Dan said.

 

* * *

 

 

Laura soon realized that she would be serving detention with Mr. Lester each time, as when she arrived at detention hall the next Wednesday, she found Mr. Lester sitting at his desk with a stack of papers. She knocked briefly, hastily dropping into a chair and hoping that the English professor wouldn’t whip out a box of glitter glue and pastel heart-shaped paper again. Mr. Lester looked up at the sound, but before she could fully drop into a seat, he waved at her with a smile.

“Come over here,” he said. “You get to help me with grading this week.”

“Not more of Mrs. Howell’s work,” Laura mumbled. Mr. Lester glanced back up at her with a raised eyebrow, looking almost stern but mostly amused.

“No, no, this is from my class,” he answered, then pointed to a chair he’d pulled up to the desk. “Take a seat. These are essays from the year eights, I’ll just ask you to go through and look for grammar, consistency, things like that, don’t worry about fact-checking.”

“But I’m in year seven?” Laura said almost questioningly.

“I’m fully aware of that, Ms. Jones,” Mr. Lester assured her, then he leaned in and added in a tone that was conspiratorially soft, “I’m also fully aware that you are exceptionally good at my class, even if you’ve only been here two weeks and started in the middle of the semester.”

For a second, Laura simply stared at him. She had learned very early on when to tell if an adult was flattering you because they wanted something or because they were being genuine. Over the years it had gotten fairly easy to do, but at that particular moment, she was thoroughly stumped.

“Thanks,” she murmured. Mr. Lester looked up again and shot her a smile.

She took an essay almost hesitantly, then picked up a pen and looked down at it. The History of Valentine’s Day and How It All Started. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Mr. Lester’s sort of detention.

“Have a good day, Ms. Jones,” Mr. Lester said an hour later. “I’ll see you in class on Friday; we’re starting modern literature.”

“Can’t wait,” Laura said, and she almost meant it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dan!” Phil shouted. “Letter for us both!”

“I'm indisposed, open without me!” Dan called back.

Phil raised an eyebrow to himself, figuring that his husband was most likely dealing with the repercussions of having Mexican for dinner. He frowned slightly, considering telling Dan he couldn't have burritos if things like this kept happening.

Shrugging, Phil walked from the front door with the mail in hand, looking for a letter opener. He tossed the junk mail onto the kitchen table, not caring about the sales at the local grocery market or how the sketchy appearing mortgage company could refinance the nonexistent loan on his nonexistent house. He slit the letter open, pulling a few sheets of paper from the inside, his eyes skimming over the first paragraphs, then his jaw dropped.

“Dear Mr. and Mr. Howell-Lester, we are very pleased to inform you that your request to utilize our agency in adopting a child has been granted.”

“What?” said Dan, having just walked in.

Phil hadn't even realized he'd read the sentence aloud. Slowly, he pulled his gaze up to meet Dan's and held out the letter. Dan took it, his brow tightening as he read. He let out a whoop, throwing his arms into the air and around Phil.

“We're gonna adopt a kid!” he shouted.

“We're gonna be dads!” Phil cried, and he was actually crying, there were tears of joy streaming from his eyes as he hugged his husband tightly to him. Dan pressed his hands to Phil's face and kissed him, a wet kiss that lasted only a few seconds before he pulled away to hug him again.

“We're gonna have a kid, princess,” he whispered.

“We're adopting a kid,” Phil answered.

 

* * *

 

Laura had very few items that she could call her own at home. In a house with four teenagers, three young kids, and a girl who was almost eighteen, she shared a room with three other girls, shared a bathroom with five people, she wasn’t even able to have a bed to herself. What she had could all fit in one bag. Included in that was a small calendar; she always made a point of having a calendar, no matter where she was, no matter what the house, she had a calendar. With her calendar came a set of multi-colored sharpies that she crossed the days off with, and every time she moved house, she switched sharpies. There were 11 colors in the pack other than black, but Laura had never used the black sharpie. To use black ink was something she was saving, for the inevitable day when she aged out of the system and got to live on her own, or, in the slimmest case where someone decided the pre-teen child of a drug addict was someone they wanted in their lives, if she was ever adopted. It was now March, and Laura had used two different sharpies to cross off days since the start of December, and it was about time to switch again. Her longest streak of one single color had been a year ago, when she stayed with this one family in north London for a total of 76 days. They’d sent her along because they wanted a break from fostering.

This house was very loud. The parents, Georgina and William, were frazzled people who had two kids of their own let alone eight foster children, but they were genuinely nice people. Their kids were a little girl about seven and a boy Laura’s age that didn’t particularly care for his three foster brothers and five foster sisters. The house was always hectic, there was never a moment of quiet, not even in the early hours of the morning, and if she was honest, Laura fully expected to be gone before April. She didn’t care for the grammar school, she didn’t like Mr. Lester’s strange style of detentions, she hated that Billy Finch had tripped her in the hallway the week before and made her twist her ankle, she hated that Tiffany Fay and her batch of simpering, giggling friends at school had noticed in only a month that she only owned five pairs of jeans.

“Good morning, class!” Mr. Lester called over the din echoing through his classroom. Laura was staring out the window, completely ignoring everything around her; she was calculating the probability that the news Georgiana and William had said they wanted to give everyone that evening would be that they were sick of having ten children in their house and they wanted to downsize, starting with the weird, quiet one whose mother couldn’t cope with having never finished high school or never getting the guy she wanted to fall in love with her.

“Before we start today’s lesson, let’s get some of that energy out of you lot?” Mr. Lester announced. “You’ve got five minutes, ask me any question you want to.”

“Can we skip the lesson today?” shouted the boy next to Laura; she winced at his unnecessary volume. The classroom at large was easily amused, however, as they all laughed. Mr. Lester simply chuckled.

“‘Fraid not, sorry, Evan. Yes, in the back, Tiffany?”

“Will you get me something for my birthday?”

“Also no, happy birthday though.”

“Thanks!” said the very pleased Tiffany; Mr. Lester took another question as Tiffany and her friends giggled about the handsome Mr. Lester. Laura rolled her eyes, dropping her chin onto her hand.

“Isn’t today “Bring Your Kid To Work” day?” asked a kid in the front.

“Yes, it is, actually, and that is why you’ll see Mrs. Howell at the primary school dragging along her very unhappy adult child,” Mr. Lester laughed. “Poor man’s had to come every year for about thirty years now.”

Laura rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help a little smile. Even though she’d yet to meet Mrs. Howell, Mr. Lester spoke very highly of her, and her son seemed to greatly amuse both him and the class.

“How come you didn’t bring anyone?”

“I don’t have any children,” Mr. Lester confessed. “Yet, we’re hoping to adopt a child soon.”

“Oooh!” came the chorus from the room. Laura looked up at that, her hand dropping to the desk. Mr. Lester was looking to adopt a child?

“Are you going to get a boy or a girl?” asked a girl in the front.

“We don’t know,” Mr. Lester said, a grin breaking his face. “The adoption agency we’re using looks for kids that are from underprivileged backgrounds in particular.” He paused, then added with a small smirk, “The missus specifically said we want someone who needs us.”

The class, for some reason, laughed at that. Laura looked around, wondering what was so funny about Mrs. Lester wanting to get a child in need. But Mr. Lester was smiling as well, and the boy next to her was bent double giggling. Laura let her smile drop into a slight scowl. There was nothing funny about adopting an underprivileged child.

“Make sure you tell the missus,” someone in the front choked out, “that that’s a very admirable goal.”

“I promise,” Mr. Lester smiled. Laura couldn’t believe they were all still laughing, especially the teacher, weren’t teachers supposed to be mature adults?

“Are you going to adopt from another country?” someone asked.

“No, actually,” Mr. Lester answered, “we’re looking to adopt locally. Unfortunately, a teacher’s salary can’t cover adopting a child from Indonesia.”

“What about the missus’s salary?” asked another student, and the class erupted into giggles again. Laura frowned again. Maybe it was some sort of inside joke and had nothing to do with underprivileged children. She hoped that was the case.

Mr. Lester smiled again, ducking his head and shaking it slightly. “Enough about the missus,” he said, chuckling. “Any other questions?”

“Would you adopt an older kid?” someone called. “Because Jones is in the foster system.”

Laura’s face immediately turned red as the entire class turned round to look at her. She spotted Tiffany and her friends all leaning in and whispering to each other, giggling under their breaths. The boy sat next to her frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. Everyone was staring at her, even Mr. Lester.

“I’ve just realized, we’re out of time to run out your energy,” called the teacher. The students all stopped looking at her, but Laura didn’t feel any better. Tiffany and her friends were still giggling, and Mr. Lester hadn’t answered the question.

Her deceptively longer than a month’s worth month of detentions finished that afternoon, in the middle of March. She had crossed off 39 days in bright green ink on her calendar. The color before, blue, that had only lasted 29, and before that, red had lasted 27. Blue had stretched from beginning of December to the beginning of January, and statistically speaking, she was due for another move. Laura stared out the window of the bus, watching the suburban type trees and suburban type houses flash by, and thinking that she preferred cities to suburbs. At least the schools there didn’t make fun of foster kids.

Georgina and William made everyone eat dinner together that night. Laura barely picked at her food, waiting for them to announce that they needed a break from fostering or there were just too many mouths to feed or they were in general sick of them. The three girls she shared with looked equally grim and bored as she felt.

Georgina made the announcement after dinner. They were buying a trampoline. Laura snuck off to her shared room as the little kids started screaming happily. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased with the turn of events or not. She crossed off day 40 in green ink.

 

* * *

 

“This is the last time I drive you to work in the morning,” Dan grumbled as Phil got into their car that afternoon. Phil chuckled as he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his husband’s grumpy face.

“You’ve said that many times, Dan,” Phil reminded him.

“Well, this time I mean it!” Dan declared, now shifting gears and pulling away from the curb. “I’m a grown ass man, and my mother decides that it’d be a good idea to pull me in for bloody ‘Bring Your Kid to Work Day.’”

“If it makes you feel any better, my second-period class thought it was absolutely hilarious.”

Dan shot Phil a look that clearly stated that his words were in no way comforting. “Thanks,” Dan told him dryly.

“You’re welcome,” Phil told him smugly.

Dan rolled his eyes, slowing the car for a red light. Phil turned his eyes onto the stoplight, watching it sway slightly in the wind. It turned green, and the car accelerated gently.

“I mentioned that we’re looking to adopt,” Phil said.

“Yeah?” Dan asked. “Any pregnant students?”

Phil shot Dan a scornful look. “No, and I resent that remark. We’ve worked very hard to improve sex ed here.”

“Alright, alright.” Dan signaled left, changing lanes. Then he glanced at Phil. “You didn’t call me the missus again, did you?”

Phil snorted, smiling sheepishly at his lap. Dan gave a heavy groan. “Phil!”

“It’s funny!” he giggled. “It helps my students connect with me!”

“By referring to your husband as the missus?” Dan questioned. “You are completely mental. Bonkers. Stark raving mad.”

Phil leaned over and kissed Dan’s cheek again. “Love you too.”

Dan huffed, mumbling something that sounded like: “Love you, you bloody princess.” Phil settled back into his chair again, looking back out at the road ahead with a happy smile. After a moment, he spoke again.

“You remember that new girl I was telling you about? The one who’s doing detentions with me on Wednesdays?”

“The one who doesn’t care if you have fun detention activities?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Dan glanced at him. “What about her?”

“She’s in the foster system.”

Dan glanced at him again. He was quiet for a while, then he nodded. “I guess that’s why she moved in the middle of February.”

Phil only nodded. Then, he said: “Her last name is Jones.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I hear the old windbag is out sick.”

“Is he? Do you think he’s alright?”

“Who cares? We’re getting a sub from the primary school!”

Laura stopped listening to the conversation by then. The science teacher was out sick, they were getting a sub, blah blah, who gave a damn. She turned and looked out the window at the pouring rain outside, doing what she did best: glaring moodily into the distance. It was a skill she had refined and perfected in the past four years.

“Good afternoon, year sevens!” called the substitute. Laura turned her head to look at the whiteboard as their sub wrote out her name. “I am Mrs. Howell, I teach the year threes across the road. How are you this fine, rainy day?”

Laura raised an eyebrow. So this was the infamous, arthritic Mrs. Howell. She was taller than Laura had imagined.

“Mrs. Howell, Mr. Whitehall always lets us play games on rainy days!” Billy Finch called.

“Nice try, kid, but I’ve been teaching for more than twenty years, no cigar,” Mrs. Howell said in response. “Let’s talk geology. Who knows the three basic kinds of rock?”

Laura looked back out the window. She didn’t care. She watched the rain fall, making ripples in all the puddles, rapidly getting lost in the waves, time slipping by unnoticed.

“Ms. Jones? Care to venture a guess?”

Laura jerked her head up. The class were all looking at her, and Mrs. Howell was waiting expectantly.

“Could you repeat the question?” Laura said.

The class sniggered but Mrs. Howell ignored them. “What major ways can cause a canyon to be formed?”

“Erm…” Laura said. Mrs. Howell raised her eyebrows. Laura was fairly certain she knew, but she was more certain that she didn’t want to answer. “I dunno.”

“Have a guess, then,” Mrs. Howell says.

“I have no clue,” Laura insisted.

“Come on, old Whitehall says you're one of his best students, this was covered in the section you read just last class.”

Laura felt her cheeks go vibrantly pink at that. Whitehall said she was one of his best students?

“Two things,” Mrs. Howell said finally, sighing slightly. “A volcano eruption can form canyons in a matter of days, or a river can erode away at a rock face over thousands of years. Who wants to give me two examples?”

Laura dropped her head. She had known the answer, and now she felt slightly guilty for refusing to give it. She looked back out the window, wishing she was somewhere far, far away and that she didn’t have to worry about sedimentary rock or care about heroin overdoses.

“Alright, that’s it.”

Laura looked up again. Mrs. Howell shut her book with a snap and put her hands on her hips. “I don't know how Whitehall makes these lessons last an hour, because I’ve just finished it and we’ve got twenty minutes left.”

“Let’s play a game!” someone called.

Mrs. Howell shrugged and dropped into her chair. “Or we could have a pop quiz.”

“Game!” came shouts from across the room. Mrs. Howell sniggered.

“I don’t want to bother making up anything that’s educational right now, so we’ll play a game,” Mrs. Howell decided.

“Truth or dare!”

“I’m too old for that,” Mrs. Howell declared.

“Is it true you make your son come with you to “Bring Your Kid To Work” day still?” someone asked.

Mrs. Howell threw her head back and laughed. “Have you been talking to Mr. Lester again?” she asked. “I don’t make poor Dan do that, it just so happened that he was here yesterday and I forced him to stick around all day.”

“Why was he here?” asked Laura without thinking.

“He was here to drop off Phil,” Mrs. Howell answered as the rest of the class turned to look at her with varying expressions of amusement and disbelief. “Sorry, Mr. Lester.”

Laura gave a frown. That didn’t make anything clearer to her. “Why?”

“Because Phil’s his husband,” Mrs. Howell said gleefully. “You may have heard him referring to Dan as ‘the missus.’”

Laura’s mouth fell open slightly as two months worth of giggling over the phrase “the missus” made sudden sense.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Mrs. Howell asked.

“Yes,” Laura answered, but left it at that. Mrs. Howell raised an eyebrow, but turned her eyes on another raised hand.

At least her classmates didn’t think orphans were something to laugh about, just their English teacher calling his husband “the missus.” In hindsight, it was sort of amusing.

At lunch, Billy Finch grabbed her bum. Laura broke his nose again, and the headmaster refused to listen when she swore that he had assaulted her first. No one bothered to stick up for her, so she was written off for a month of detentions again, this time on Friday, though that made little difference to her. When she got back to Georgina and William’s house that afternoon, her foster parents and the little kids were all in the backyard playing with the brand new trampoline. They didn’t care that she had another month of detentions. Laura pulled her calendar from her backpack and stared at it, before crossing off day 41 in green ink. She wished she would move again.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Jones,” Mr. Lester said brightly. Laura held back an internal whimper as the door shut behind her. Why couldn’t she be sat with a normal teacher who would just make her stare at the clock for an hour?

“How have you been?” Mr. Lester pressed.

“Fine,” Laura said curtly. She dropped into a chair far away from the teacher’s desk, purposefully keeping her eyes downcast.

“You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy detention, Ms. Jones.”

“Why’s that?” asked Laura, but she didn’t actually care.

“Well, you’ve barely been free of it for a week.”

Laura glared at him. “It’s not my fault the headmaster doesn’t listen to people when they tell him Billy Finch is a bully,” she snapped angrily. Like vomit, two months of pent-up tension started bubbling up from her chest, pouring from her mouth and splattering across the floor in puddles of self-righteous anger. “It’s not my fault that he just judged me for being a problem child because I’m in the foster system, it’s not my fault no one believes me when I say I didn’t do anything, it’s not my fault he didn’t believe me when I told him that Finch made me twist my ankle or snap my bra or grab my butt; you know, Finch deserved to get his nose broken again!”

Mr. Lester’s eyes were very wide when Laura shut her mouth. She immediately regretted opening her mouth, as the English teacher looked horrified. She dropped her gaze to the ground, her hands falling to her lap and her head drooping in a submissive stance.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

She heard a chair scraping, then footsteps. She looked up to see Mr. Lester leaning against the table in front of hers, his face concerned.

“Laura?” he asked quietly. She blinked. It was strange to hear her given name coming from her teacher. “Did Billy Finch touch you inappropriately?”

“You make it sound like he raped me or something,” Laura mumbled.

“Did he touch you?”

“He pinched my bum,” Laura said again. “But none of the fifty or so people in the cafeteria saw it so the Headmaster didn’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” Mr. Lester said.

Laura looked up at him. “Why?”

He blinked. “Why shouldn’t I?” he said. “You’ve never given me any reason to think that you’d make this sort of thing up. If you say he did it, I believe you.”

“He did,” Laura insisted. “He’s always picking on me. It’s ‘cause I broke his nose my first week here when he told me I had to cough up my lunch money.”

Mr. Lester checked his watch. “I’ll talk to the Headmaster,” he said. “I think the buses have left already, but I can give you a ride home.”

Laura felt her mouth drop open. “What?” she said.

“You don’t have to serve detention,” Mr. Lester clarified. “Breaking Billy’s nose again probably wasn’t the right solution, but I don’t think you deserve detention for defending yourself.”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Lester answered, his eyebrows raising. He set a hand on her shoulder, his eyes full of concern. “You deserve better than to be punished for defending yourself just because you’re in the foster system.”

He patted her shoulder, then turned away and grabbed his coat from his desk. “Let’s get you home, alright? I’ll clear all this up with the headmaster, and I’ll get Billy Finch to face the consequences of his actions.”

Laura rose from her chair, then pinched her arm. It hurt. Mr. Lester had crossed to the door, holding it open for her and waiting. She swung her bag over her shoulder, then walked out, still feel as if she was in a dream.

In four years, she had been to almost two dozen schools. By the sixth school, she had realized that people weren’t going to take her side. She was the foster brat who could fit all of her belongings into a large garbage bag, she was the kid who started fights, the kid who didn’t turn in homework, the kid who had an “attitude.” Mr. Lester was taking her side. She didn’t know what to do about that.

“You can wait here, I’ve just got to make a quick phone call,” Mr. Lester told her outside the school. Laura nodded, still silent, as her English teacher and somehow, shockingly, her ally stepped away, raising his phone to his ear. Laura stared at her feet, hugging herself to ward off the slight chill in the air.

“My husband will be here in just a moment,” said Mr. Lester, stepping towards her again. “What’s your address?”

Laura opened her mouth, then frowned. “Erm… I don’t remember.”

Mr. Lester raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what street it’s on?”

“Elm,” she said. “It might be 1600 something, I think. I’ve only been living there for 42 days.”

“42 days, huh?” Mr. Lester said softly. He typed something into his phone, then stepped closer and showed it to her; a satellite image of her foster parent’s street. “Here, see if you can find it.”

It took her a minute, but a beat-up old Toyota pulled up at the curb moments after she did. Mr. Lester opened the back seat door for her, giving her an encouraging smile. Laura glanced at the car, then at her teacher, then decided it was fine and got in. She looked over at the driver as Mr. Lester got into the passenger seat. He was probably just as tall as Mr. Lester, if not taller, but had brown hair instead of black. The man was wearing a loose-fitting tee, and she was surprised to tattoos, one curling out from the sleeve and another, a gorgeous emerald green eastern dragon, stretching over his neck. The one on his arm, which confused her, said in typed script: like a bloody princess in a hand-made flower crown.

“This is my husband, Dan,” Mr. Lester said to her. “Dan, this is Laura Jones.”

Mr. Lester’s husband Dan looked into the rearview mirror at her, then turned to face her full on. He had piercings, too, she realized. The man had eyebrow bars and a tattoo about princesses? He didn’t look much like the husband of an English teacher.

“Jones,” he repeated, frowning slightly. Mr. Lester glanced between Laura and his husband.

“Yes,” Mr. Lester said, but nothing more.

Mr. Lester, the husband, gave a faint nod, but he was still frowning as he turned back to face the road. She caught him glancing at her in the rearview mirror again as he changed gears.

“Do you live far, Laura?” Mr. Lester’s husband asked.

“Erm, a bit,” she answered. “It takes longer by bus, though.”

“We found her house on Google Earth,” Mr. Lester said, showing his phone to his husband. “It’s on Elm Street, number 1006.”

“That’s not that far,” Mr. Lester’s husband said. “About fifteen minutes.”

“We live only a few streets from you, actually,” Mr. Lester told her. “On Cardinal Drive.”

“Cool,” said Laura, as she had no clue what else to say. She’d never been given a ride by a teacher and his husband before, so she was unsure of what protocol there was for the situation.

“So, how are you doing in your other classes, Laura?” Mr. Lester, the teacher, asked. Two Mr. Lesters were confusing her.

“Good,” Laura lied. She wasn’t sure how she was doing, but she wasn’t exactly applying herself. It wasn’t like she would likely be there much longer to have to worry about it. It had been 42 days, already.

“So, what – what are your parents’ names?” asked Mr. Lester’s husband.

“I have foster parents,” Laura answered automatically.

“Oh,” Mr. Lester’s husband said, sounding rather apologetic but not particularly surprised. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Laura shrugged. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ve been in the foster system for four years now.”

“Four years?” Mr. Lester’s husband repeated, and again, he was frowning. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Laura shrugged again. “My mother overdosed. I don’t know where my dad is. She didn’t put his name on my birth certificate.”

Mr. Lester’s husband looked even more apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Mr. Lester the husband and Mr. Lester the teacher exchanged slight glances that she did not fail to notice, though she was sure she was meant to. Laura merely shrugged. “‘S fine,” she muttered.

The car was quiet after that. Laura turned to look out the window. Somehow, the suburban trees and houses looked different from the window of a car than of a bus.

“Here we are,” said Mr. Lester’s husband a few minutes later, parking in front of Georgina and William’s house. Laura released her seat belt, grabbing her backpack as she opened her door.

“Thank you,” she said, then paused. “For – for getting me out of detention, too.”

“You’re welcome, Laura,” Mr. Lester said, giving her a soft smile. “Just remember, you’re always free to come and talk to me. About anything.”

Laura just nodded, stepping out of the car and through her bag onto her shoulder. She shut the car door and waved, then started up the walk towards the house. She unlocked it with the key she’d been given her first week there, then stepped inside. She glanced behind her, seeing the old Toyota pulling away. She hesitated, watching it go. She’d never had an adult offer to listen to her before.

 

* * *

 

It was quiet on the way home. Dan was staring broodily at the road ahead, while Phil looked out the window pensively. They parked outside their flat building, getting out and walking up in the same silence that had been with them in the car. They took the stairs up, Phil trailing along behind his husband. Upstairs, Dan tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter, then paused.

“You were right.”

Phil heaved a sigh and nodded. “I thought so.”

Dan lifted himself onto the counter with a small hop, his feet banging faintly against the woodwork as he looked with a furrowed brow at the floor. Phil stepped in front of him and pushed his arms around his husband’s waist, dropping his head onto his shoulder. Dan automatically wrapped his arms around Phil’s shoulders, locking his hands together.

“Same blue eyes,” Dan muttered. “Same dirty blonde hair. Both of them had the blue eyes and blonde hair.”

“She’s the right age,” Phil added.

“Jones is a common name,” Dan said. “But…”

“But?”

“I’d recognize those pale eyes anywhere, honestly.”

It hurt Phil a little to know that his husband still had his first love’s eyes burned into his memory, especially knowing how it had turned out, but even he had to admit that they were hard to forget. He met the man only once, and he’d never forget the strange, pale eyes.

Dan’s lips pressed against Phil’s neck, a soft kiss meant to comfort, though Phil was unsure if Dan was comforting him or his own conflicted emotions. It wasn’t every day you met your dead ex’s niece, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Before she knew it, it was nearing the middle of April and Laura was still living in Reading. She had 74 days crossed out in green ink on her calendar, and on the morning of the 75th she woke up to the sudden realization that she would be breaking her 76-day record the next day. There was no indication that Georgiana and William were tired of her or any of their other foster children; Mandy, the girl who had been close to eighteen when Laura first arrived, was still living there despite having aged out of the foster system. Georgina greeted her every morning with breakfast and a smile, William offered to help her with homework at least once a week, and she was still living there.

Laura was staring out the window in English, wondering what she was going to do now that her temporary home had become no longer so temporary. There was a chance that she might still be living with Georgiana and William when the school term ended, that she’d still be going to this school in time to take final exams. She hadn’t even bothered to do that well up to that point, she had mostly C’s and B’s. Hell, her 13th birthday was coming up and Georgina had even asked what she was thinking about to celebrate the occasion. Laura couldn’t remember a situation like this. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“That’s it for today, kids,” Mr. Lester called out. “Have a good day, and I’ll see you all on Monday.”

Amidst the scrapings of chairs and chatter of kids, Laura rose from her seat, her eyes on the ground as she navigated the crowd leaving for the buses. She could probably do well on the exams, but what if she was still there for next term? Would her low grades this year affect that? Laura gave herself a shake. She shouldn’t bother to worry about things like that. They weren’t likely to happen.

“Ms. Jones, would you stay back for a moment?”

Laura stopped at the sound of her name. She glanced around, then stepped out of the flow of the crowd as Mr. Lester started shuffling papers on his desk. Her hand came to rest at her elbow, playing with a small hole in her sleeve as she waited for Mr. Lester to start talking. Did he want to talk to her about her grades? Was there something he wanted to tell her about Billy Finch? Did he get the prick suspended or at least two months of detentions or was it just a slap on the wrist?

“What is it?” Laura finally asked the still silent teacher.

Mr. Lester looked up, watching as the last student exited the room. He set down his papers and came around the desk to face her more directly, ignoring the fact that he was a whole foot taller than her.

“Did you know that your mother went to this school?” he said abruptly.

Laura blinked. She glanced away from him, to the door, then down at her feet. For a second, she was silent, her brain churning to process the sudden information. She hadn’t honestly thought about her mother in ages. Her mother stopped being a mother to her long before her death.

“I didn’t know, no,” she whispered, still looking at her feet.

“She was… friends with Dan,” Mr. Lester said quietly, hesitantly. “Tasha Jones, right?”

Laura nodded. “Yeah – she – she overdosed. Four years ago.”

“I know.”

Laura looked up at him sharply. “How do you know?” she demanded. “How – how did you find out, that’s not in my school file, it’s – it can’t –”

“It isn’t, don’t worry.” Her shoulders dropped, but then the teacher kept talking. “But, it is in your file in the system. In the foster system.”

“You were looking at my records?” she said, completely shocked, and then a little angry. “Why would you even do that? What business is it of yours?”

“It’s not like that, Laura,” Mr. Lester said quickly, his tone almost guilty, “not at all, I promise. Dan and I, we’re looking to adopt a child, the agency that we’re using, they showed us your file. Because we asked.”

Laura froze. Mr. Lester looked as if he regretted saying anything at all, but maybe it was just the worry in his eyes at her reaction.

“You were looking at my file?” she murmured finally. “As in… as in to ado–…”

She couldn’t finish the word. Slowly, Mr. Lester nodded. Laura gaped at him, wide-eyed, when he suddenly smiled.

“I didn’t mean for this to go this way,” he said quietly. “Honestly, I wanted to bring this up differently… We asked to see your file about a month ago, right after you got that detention for breaking Billy Finch’s nose a second time.”

Laura didn’t believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t possible. Mr. Lester was telling her that he saw her file because he was nosy, but that he didn’t want to adopt her. He couldn’t want to adopt her. She’d been in the system four years and no one had ever wanted to adopt her.

“I know it’s strange,” Mr. Lester murmured, then broke off. He bit at his lip, his brow furrowing, then looked back to her and smiled again. “But… would you like to be adopted?”

Laura’s throat felt very dry. She swallowed, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Would you like to be adopted by Dan and me?” her teacher asked.

Laura clenched her jaw, her gaze falling to the ground. She raised a hand and pinched the flesh of her arm as hard as she could.

It hurt horribly.

“Yes,” she said quietly. After a second’s silence, she chanced a glance upward to see Mr. Lester grinning from ear to ear. He held up his arms, and it took her a second to realize what that meant. She stepped forward hesitantly, then opened her arms and hugged him tightly about the waist.

“Do I call you ‘dad’ then?” Laura whispered hoarsely. She was holding back tears.

“If you’d like,” Mr. Lester answered her thickly. She looked up at him to see that his eyes were welling up as well.

“Okay,” Laura said. “Dad.”

Her soon-to-be dad grinned. “Dan’s waiting outside,” he said.

“Do I call him ‘dad’ too?” Laura asked, half grinning, half crying.

“That’s a good point,” Mr. Lester laughed.

“What about ‘pop’ or ‘papa’?” Laura said, stepping back and hugging herself tightly; she still could hardly believe it was real. “Or you could be papa, ‘cause your name is Phil, and he could be dad, ‘cause he’s Dan.”

“That’s a thought,” Mr. Lester said, chuckling. “How about we go say hi to him before you decide?”

“Right,” she said, turning around. Mr. Lester stepped past her, opening the classroom door; he waved to someone outside, and his husband, whom she’d only briefly met, stepped inside. He gave her a grin, and she darted forward and threw her arms around his waist.

“Thank you,” she said, half muffled by his shirt. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” said her soon-to-be other-dad; he detached her arms from him and knelt down in front of her. “Thank you for letting us be your dads.”

“You guys are gonna be the best dads,” Laura decided. The both of them laughed, Mr. Lester’s husband hugged her again tightly.

“We’ll do our best,” he assured her. “I promise.”

“When can you get all the paperwork filled out?” Laura asked, bouncing on her toes as she glanced between her new dads. “When can I come live with you? Will I get better grades now that my dad works for the school?”

“Calm down,” Mr. Lester laughed. “First, your grades are fine as is, but I’ll definitely help you whenever you want help. Second, the agency is all ready; they were waiting for us to talk to you so we could ask.”

“So you could adopt me by tomorrow?” Laura gasped.

“Well, maybe by next week,” Mr. Lester’s husband said. She had to find better names for them, she decided. She couldn’t keep calling them ‘Mr. Lester’ and ‘Mr. Lester’s husband.’ For the moment, she decided to call them by their given names, until she decided which was ‘dad’ and which was ‘papa.’

“And you can come live with us as soon as the adoption’s finalized,” Phil promised her. “We’ve got a nice big room for you, you can paint it and decorate it however you want.”

“Can it be green?” she asked immediately.

“Of course,” answered Dan. “It can be whatever you want it to be.”

Laura grinned between them. She threw her arms around Dan’s neck again, as he was still kneeling beside her, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” she murmured again. Dan hugged her just as tightly, then abruptly she felt him stand and she was lifted into the air. She let out a little gasp, then laughed and hugged tighter. Phil stepped in and joined in on the hug, sandwiching her between her brand-new dads.

She had to go back to Georgina and William’s house that night, but Dan and Phil drove her and they went in to introduce themselves. It turned out that the adoption agency had contacted them already to tell them of her possible adoption, so it came to no surprise to her foster parents. They actually threw her a party that weekend; it was just her foster family and her new dads, but it was amazing. Mandy, who never even smiled, cried. The adoption was finalized a week later, and her fathers took her to get furniture and pick out paints the very same day. She spent the weekend painting her new bedroom with their help, sleeping on a sofa bed in her fathers’ sitting room.

The first night she spent in her new room, with the walls painted a deep green and the ceiling a softer shade and not even half filled with furniture, she pulled out her calendar and stuck it to the wall with a thumbtack. She took out a black sharpie and made an x over the day’s date, then grinned at the black ink. She wouldn’t ever have to change colors again.

 

* * *

 

**_epilogue_ **

 

 

Laura woke up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, but for good reason. Her dads were supposed to take her to Ikea to get the rest of her furniture that afternoon; she wanted all her stuff to match, she’d been very insistent about that. Phil, who she’d decided was Papa, had laughed and told her that she was already starting to resemble them; apparently Dan, who was now Dad, always made a fuss about things being symmetrical.

She lept out of bed and started getting ready for the day; she grabbed brand new clothes from her wardrobe and dressed in brand new shoes. She paused to evaluate the room one last time; she had a bed and a wardrobe, but that was about it. The wardrobe, apparently, had been from her dads’ first home together. It had a little heart carved in it with their initials on one of the doors. She thought it was cute. She’d put her own initials under it, LAHL.

“I want a rug,” Laura decided, looking at the ceiling. “I can have a rug.”

No one answered her, which made her grin because it was more affirmation that this was real and she wasn’t dreaming. She really liked having her own room.

Laura left her room in search of cereal. She was hungry and her dads had bought her the kind that was covered in sugar and absolutely not part of a healthy breakfast. In the kitchen, however, she found it on the very top shelf. Being just a month shy of thirteen, she wasn’t quite tall enough to reach it, and there wasn’t a stool.

“Why do they both have to be so tall?” she sighed. “If one of them was shorter, there would be a stool.”

At the lack of a response, she closed the cupboard.

“I want a stool,” she said.

Laura walked back down the hall to her dads’ bedroom; she raised a hand to knock, then at a faint sound, clapped it over her mouth.

“... be good, princess.”

“Is this good enough?”

“Ah, fuck!”

Laura spun around and ran into her room, shutting the door quickly. Her face was burning with a flush. She was a month shy of thirteen, but she did not need to overhear her brand new parents having sex. And why the hell was one of them being called princess?!

This was all way too much information for a nearly thirteen-year-old, so she turned on the radio, loud even though there was no trace of the noise from her dads' bedroom, and stayed in her room until she heard their bedroom door open and her dad calling for her.

“Laura, are you awake yet?” Dad knocked at the door, then opened it. “You alright, love?”

Laura, who had just removed her hands from her ears, nodded. “Yep!” she said squeakily. She didn’t really want to look at him. “Peachy!”

Dad glanced at her, then the radio, then back at her and frowned. “Erm, okay,” he said. “Erm, do you want breakfast?”

“Yes,” she said. “And a stool.”

“A stool?”

“Yes, a stool.”

“We can get you a stool. Any particular reason why?”

“So I do not have to bother you and Papa when I need the cereal.”

Her dad’s cheeks went red. “Oh! Oh, no. Er, well, we were just –”

“It’s okay!” Laura said quickly. “Just, erm, a stool.”

“Of course.”

Laura stood up. She couldn’t meet her dad’s eye, but neither could he, so they were even in embarrassment.

“We have added a stool to the shopping list, princess,” her dad said to Papa as he entered the kitchen. Laura stopped behind him, her eyes going wide again and she went red all over again.

“You okay?” Papa asked her.  
  
“Peachy!” she squeaked again.

“Oh, no,” Dad mumbled, covering his face with a hand, the hand with the tattoo that mentioned a bloody prin–.

“You’ve ruined that word now,” Laura said. “I can never hear it again.”

“What word?” Papa asked, pouring coffee as if nothing had happened.

“I think we’ve broken our daughter,” Dad said in a mumble to Papa, hugging him from behind.

“Already?” her papa asked. “What did you do?”

Her dad said something, something Laura assumed that she was supposed to hear, but her dad was bad at whispering: “Nothing, you’re a kinky little shit.”

Papa went red too. “Peachy,” he said.

“Peachy,” Laura echoed.

“Fret not, little one,” Dad announced, “I’m sure you’ll get back at us in a few years.”

“Dan!” Papa said reproachfully. “Laura, you may not have boys over until you are much, much older.”

“You know, I think I’m okay with that,” Laura said. “Not my thing.”

Her dads looked at each other, then back at her. “No girls, either,” Papa said.

Then Laura pouted. “Peachy,” she mumbled.

Dad grinned. “Now that we’ve settled that, have you got questions? Like, about the miracle of life, or has the drastically horrible school system’s sex ed taken care of that?”

Laura changed her mind. “Why princess?” she asked despondently.

While her papa blushed and her dad laughed, Laura smiled. It was kind of funny.

“So, Ikea?” Papa declared in a loud voice. Laura and Dad laughed harder.

**Author's Note:**

> _bc this is phandombigbang i have an artist who worked with me to make an amazing piece of art which you can find[here](http://silentorator.tumblr.com/post/167637753015/i-know-its-strange-mr-lester-murmured-then). it's really great and beautiful so go give it some love._
> 
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> _follow me on[tumblr](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying_


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